Second Thoughts
by Kristanci
Summary: Inspired by the series Youngblades and based on its characters. D'Artagnan rethinks his feelings for a certain musketeer when put in a life threatening situation.
1. Morning Bout

Due to the unofficial youngblades site being down for such a long time, I have decide to put some of the fanfiction I wrote here on Unfortunately, I have lost quite a bit of the stories, but I have managed to find this one in tact. I hope you enjoy reading this!

Kriss

Morning Bout

The sun slowly began to rise pouring its rays through the windows of the musketeer headquarters. Usually, one would just now wake steering away from restful night's sleep, but not King Louis' close guards. At least, not a specific pair of musketeers. Metal clashing against metal and sounds of scuffling feet filled the practice square.

"Jacque" quickly parried d'Artangnan's offensive blow, then countered with her own. The two quickly regained their footing once more, standing in defensive stances. Neither wanted to yield to the other, for the ultimate prize of breakfast was depending on this match. Both were nearly equal in skill and technique, but this morning it seemed to be Jacque who was trailing behind.

"Not enough beauty sleep?" d'Artangnan asked with low mockery.

Jacque gave her classic half grimace-half smirk in response to her opponent, refusing to let him get the best of her. "You can think quick with your tongue, but my sword is quicker," she said, charging at him, intending to have first touch. They continued again as they had a half hour ago. They had a tendency to cover a vast amount of ground during their scrimmages.

Not too long ago, they found themselves in Captain Duval's office, lunging and jumping around desks and bookcases. When the captain found out, he had them cleaning the stables for two days straight. Since then, they've managed to keep their bouts within the training grounds.

"Her sweet voice fills the air, alas! It is my beauty so lovely and fair. Kissed by the sun are her strands of gold, in my arms I wish I could have her to hold …" said a voice down the hallway.

"Ramon!" Jacque and d'Artangnan yelled at the same time. It was true that they both loved their friend Ramon, dearly, but to hear his poetry so early in the morning…

"Sorry, sorry," apologized the Spanish musketeer. He emerged in the courtyard just outside the main room of the headquarters. He leaned against the stone wall, watching the two, amused and intrigued. "You better keep up, Jacque, you have already allowed d'Artangnan to slowly catch up from last week."

Jacque's eyes followed every move and every step that d'Artangnan made, but this little bout belonged to d'Artangnan today. She could not believe that he had knocked her rapier out of her hands, and that she was staring at the tip of d'Artangnan's. "Breakfast is on you," he said triumphantly. He returned his rapier to his side and picked up Jacque's, handing it to her. "It wouldn't hurt if I ordered to my heart's content, would it?" he asked, obviously rubbing in his victory.

"Funny," she said in response. "What is the morning record that I hold over you?" She dusted the dirt from her boots, and proceeded towards the entrance of the musketeer quarters.

The smile faltered from d'Artangnan's face. "Fifteen to nine... but that will change in due time!" he came back just as perky as ever. Suddenly, a loud booming sound came from the inside, making all three musketeers jump. Jacque, d'Artangnan, and Ramon looked at each other then hurriedly ran to the source of the sound. It did not take them long to find the door to Siroc's office barely hanging on the hinges. Smoke and dust poured from the office, and the three musketeers began waving their hands around trying to keep the smoke from burning their eyes.

They heard Siroc coughing, falling over broken glass and wood trying to get to the window. When the air had cleared slightly, they saw him covered in ash and his face was blackened. "Apparently, I used too much gunpowder," he said, not disturbed or phased at all that he nearly blew up his room.

The three stared at him in disbelief.


	2. The Beginning of the Second Melee

For those who do not know, this story is complete. I just need to find the rest of the chapters and upload them. Thanks for reading.

The Beginning of the Second Melee

As always, the tavern was filled with high spirited customers, and of course, busty bar maids. Ramon took no heed of his friends once he spotted a beautiful maiden carrying three glasses of wine to a nearby table. He left their side quickly, and the poetry began.

Jacque, d'Artangnan, and a freshly washed Siroc sat at the table towards the back of the tavern. The Cardinal's men had seated themselves in the center stealing every passing servant of the tavern when they could. Their own table was covered in empty wine bottles and glasses as well as littered with plates of half eaten food.

"They could at least share," d'Artangnan said, getting comfortable in his chair. His eyes set on the men dressed in red wishing with all his might that he could at least beat one over the head with the hilt of his rapier. "There are others who need service as well."

Siroc shook his head, and raised his hand stopping any attempt that d'Artangnan may try to provoke the Cardinal's men. "Remember what happened last time. Captain Duval, well in actuality, King Louis is depending on us. If we started another skirmish with them, the captain will have our heads." On a side note, he Siroc had come up with another idea, and he did not want to waste precious time cleaning dungeons or stables when he could be toying with several ideas and theories in his lab.

Jacque looked around the tavern, giving a quick overlook before her eyes stopped in a general corner. She laughed a bit. "I was not there, but I can imagine what happened. Wait here," she said, pushing herself up to stand.

"And where are you going?" asked d'Artangnan, one eyebrow slightly rose.

"You are not the only one with charm," she answered back giving him the manliest grin she possibly could conjure. Jacque made her way to one of the bar maidens who was clearly steering away from a certain table occupied by several men in red coats. Jacque put on her best façade of a gentleman and approached the young woman.

The woman gave a shy smile when Jacque bowed and grasped her hand gently. "Excuse me, my friends and I are quite hungry this fine morning, and I would greatly appreciate it if, a beauty such as yourself, would be able to prepare four meals and four glasses of wine for us." When Jacque looked up, the barmaid flushed a bright crimson color.

Siroc and d'Artangnan observed the little scene before them, and both men had different reactions to it. Siroc gave a polite clap when he saw the girl curtsy and Jacque holding her hand, kissing it lightly. D'Artangnan on the other hand, buried his face in his hands in embarrassment. "Charlotte…" he whispered.

"What was that?" Siroc asked giving Jacque a welcoming smile to return to their table.

"He's rubbing it in."

Jacque returned with a large grin, mostly aimed for d'Artangnan. When she found her seat once again, he pointed at her. Somehow he had found a woman that was just as cocky as he was, and she was also one who loved a good challenge.

"You're good," he said in a mocked compliment.

"I know I am," she answered sweetly, but only for d'Artangnan to notice.

He looked at her intently wondering how a woman managed to interest him so. He had to admit, it was only Jacqueline that ever openly challenged him. Since he found out her little secret, the challenges became more intense, but they were never out of hand. It wasn't as though he did not appreciate the tests of wit, charm, and skill. In fact, he would choose her every time, but they had to be careful that no one else figured out that Jacque Lepont was Jacqueline Roget. It killed him at times that he could not even tell Ramon and Siroc, but he promised he would keep her secret.

A little while after, Ramon returned to his comrades with a satisfactory smile. He seated himself next to Jacque and placed his hand over his heart as if to keep it from beating out of his chest. His eyes were closed, and a wide smile was brought to his lips.

"Well?" Siroc asked, but he knew that he really should not have asked. It was quite obvious that his Spanish friend was quite successful.

"She absolutely loves me," Ramon sighed in admiration. "We are meeting tomorrow for coffee, in the afternoon, after practice drills."

Then the maiden that Jacque had wooed returned with two trays containing the food for the musketeers. She gave an especially warm smile to Jacque and winked to her before returning to the requests of the other customers.

"Ho ho ho!" Ramon laughed. "Jacque seems to have an admirer." He grabbed the glass of wine and dramatically held it high above them in a toast. "To women! The most beautiful creatures ever to walk upon this earth!" he said loudly.

Jacque, Siroc, and d'Artangnan grabbed their glasses as well and brought them together. "To women!" they said together.

Jacque blinked when she sipped her wine, and her eyes glanced over to d'Artangnan. She could have sworn he said, 'To a special woman' under his breath. She brushed the idea out of her head immediately. She made it this far with only a couple of people knowing who she was. To falter now would prove to be fatal. Acting like a man, toasting to women, even bringing herself to lightly pursue one was not exactly what she planned to do with her life, but she became comfortable in the company she kept. Not only was she improving her skill, but she was serving King Louis as well. She was sure that her father wanted her to stay where she was and continue serving their king and their country.

"Jacque…Jacque!" d'Artangnan said loudly breaking into her chain of thoughts.

"What?" she asked in an annoyed voice, hoping that none of them realized that she had been daydreaming. Instinctively, she broke off a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth.

"Ramon asked you the name of girl you so effortlessly won over," he said, then proceeded in biting into the meat on his fork. However, he kept his eyes focused on the center table.

"I do not know," she said truthfully to Ramon. "Why do you ask?" she wondered, but her voice died out when she saw what Ramon was referring to.

Ramon pointed over to the table with the Cardinal's men. "It seems you might want to save your woman." Even Siroc had stopped eating his meal and turned his attention to the disturbance that was happening only a few feet from them.

Jacque saw the young woman being manhandled by the drunk men. She was trying to break free of their grasps, but one of them held onto her tightly causing her to cry out in pain. Onlookers seemed as though they wanted to help, but to oppose the Cardinal's men was no less than opposing the Cardinal himself. Jacque gulped down the rest of her wine and stood quickly. 'How dare those pigs touch her in such a way!' she thought. Her anger surged, and she could feel her nerves pique. She knew how the woman felt, being a female herself, and she would not tolerate it.

D'Artangnan also rose anticipating what would happen next. "Here we go," he said and Siroc and Ramon followed suit. Neither of them needed to be asked for help. Though they all had their own opinions, they felt the same for this specific situation.

Jacque made it first to the table, grabbing the man roughly by the arm that held the helpless woman. The woman sprang free and fled behind the musketeers, clutching onto her side that was sure to be harboring a fresh bruise. Jacque twisted the man's arm to the brink of snapping the bones in two. He cried out in pain, and attempted to stand, but Jacque slammed him into the table even harder. Before anyone could breathe, eight rapiers were drawn.


	3. Turn of Events

Turn of Events

"Unhand that man, musketeer!" yelled another of the Cardinal's men. Jacque took the time to examine her situation. There were five men in red, one of which she had in her grasp currently, and the other four had drawn their swords. D'Artagnan, Ramon, and Siroc were not far behind as they had drawn out their weapons as well. She had her own rapier in her right hand while keeping the insolent man's arm twisted with her left. She ignored the demand.

"You dare touch that woman in such a way," she said in a low growl, glaring at the man she held captive.

"Musketeer, I warn you," said the man again, turning his wrist and bringing his rapier into an offensive position. "Unhand him now, or your captain will hear from us."

D'Artagnan circled around Jacque still pointing the tipped blade at the four men. "And the king will hear from us of how you mistreated one of his citizens. His majesty believes that people are to be treated as people, not animals." He was not one to waste an opportunity such as this. If he had a chance to anger or mock a follower of the Cardinal, he would take it.

"It is the lot of you who are the animals," the man spat, eyeing each musketeer with disgust. "Every one of you are filth."

While the banter continued, no one noticed how the man that Jacque had pinned underneath her grabbed a small knife from his belt. 'Make a fool of me, musketeer?' he thought excitedly, imagining how he could scar the flawless face above him. He gripped the knife tightly, waiting for the perfect moment.

"Watch out!" cried the bar maid, when she saw him grasping the knife. She brought her hands to her mouth in horror.

Jacque looked down, eyes widening in fear. She saw the dagger coming for her, wanting her blood, and instinctively ducked. For her own sake, she had to let go of his arm. Now that he was free, every soul in the tavern could hear the ringing sound of his sword. "I'll have your head!" he yelled. He lunged for Jacque, but she defended easily to the side watching him trip and fall to his knees.

"What would the Cardinal say if he saw his men, drunk and incoherent?" she asked, but he was up on his feet once more angrier than before. The other inhabitants of the tavern all gathered away from the fight, leaving behind their food and drinks. Some of the women screamed while a few of the men cheered for the musketeers.

D'Artagnan wasted no time in becoming offensive as he stepped forward and let his rapier sing. Two of the red coated men fended him off, while one fought Ramon and the other, Siroc. Instantly, the rhythmic clashing of metal against metal filled the tavern.

"Why do I get two of them?" d'Artagnan asked, neatly slicing off the shoulder seam of one of his men. He repeated severing off random bits of clothing from the two men, wanting with all his heart to embarrass the Cardinal in public. He enjoyed every moment that he had in his control.

"Because you are the son of a legend," Ramon answered. He stepped back fending off a blow from his opponent, and he easily blocked another. "Child's play!" he laughed. He found himself back to back with Siroc. "Are you worried about d'Artagnan?" he asked.

"Of course not," Siroc said with confidence, his rapier striking in rapid succession. He lunged forward, then retreated and lunged once again. When his back touched Ramon's, an idea struck him. "Duck please."

Both musketeers ducked as their rivals swung high above their heads neatly knocking off one another's black brimmed hats. Ramon and Siroc kicked the men's feet from under them smiling as they fell on their heads. "Nicely done," Siroc complimented helping Ramon up.

"Oh, gracias. Eh, behind you," Ramon said, as the small chat was interrupted and the two found themselves under attack again.

"For a bunch of drunk men, they are persistent and quick to their feet," Siroc said, turning around and locking swords with his adversary.

"Ah yes," Ramon agreed, and as the man lunged for him, Ramon grabbed his arm and succeeded in punching him in the jaw. "But they are sloppy."

Jacque kept on the balls of her feet while she and her opponent circled a small table that stood between them. She kicked a chair underneath the table, knocking the man's knees out. He fell against the table with his head, knocking himself to the floor. "Men," Jacque muttered under breath. She looked to see how her comrades were faring, and decided that Ramon and Siroc were fine, and d'Artagnan was in a way…cheating.

"I don't need help," he said, when their eyes met. "These two can barely stand on their own feet."

"That's because you have their pants wrapped around their legs," she said, but she let a smile play on her lips. The scene looked completely horrid, if one was a supporter of Cardinal Mazarin. His men tried to fight off a legend's son while attempting to keep their under garments on. The bar maids applauded the musketeers, and laughed whenever the Cardinal's men made fools of themselves.

Jacque turned back and saw that her man had made it back to his feet and had drawn his gun. She stood there, calm and waiting. "Aren't you afraid, musketeer?" he snickered. The little click that she heard, told her that he was being serious. "Well, aren't you?"

"Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned," she said simply.

"Wha…?" he started, but then glass shattered over his head. Wine spilled over the side of his face, and he fell to the ground. It didn't seem like he was going to be getting up any time soon.  
The bar maid that he had abused earlier now held a broken bottle in her hands. "Don't you ever touch me like that again!" she yelled. She looked up at Jacque, and gave a triumphant smile.  
Jacque nodded her thanks, and gave a small bow. She half expected the maid to take the bottle and continually stab the unconscious man, but then she realized that she would have done that herself. Though she had been hiding in a man for some time, she did not lose some of her wild farm girl personality traits.

"What is going on here?" boomed a loud voice as it broke over the noises of the fight. Immediately, the musketeers stopped everything they were doing. They knew that voice.

'Oh, damn…' everybody thought.

Captain Duval entered the tavern looking around in alarm. As he had seen, quite many a time in his days, his musketeers stood over several men, and they happen to follow the Cardinal.

"Someone better explain all of this to me…" he said, anger rising in voice. He could only imagine the outrageous story he was going to hear in a few moments.

"There is no need, Captain," said a light and cheery voice behind him.

The four musketeers looked at one another, unused to being saved from trying to figure out a believable reason to completely humiliate the Cardinal in public. D'Artagnan shrugged when his and Jacque's eyes met. She appeared slightly worried when d'Artagnan silently admitted he had no idea what was going on.

A young man stood behind Captain Duval, completely covered by the bigger man's frame. Jacque could see the curly blond hair and hints of a golden cloak that stuck out from Duval's silhouette. Only one person in all of France wore such fine garments, and when she realized who had pardoned their actions, she sheathed her rapier in a hurry. "Your Majesty!" she said in surprise, and knelt to one knee.

D'Artagnan, Ramon, and Siroc masked their surprise as best as they could when they also bowed to their king. D'Artagnan appeared calm and collected, but his nerves were racing and his heart was beating wildly. He looked over to Ramon and Siroc, and they seemed to be feeling the same. The tavern fell silent in the presence of their king, and the only sound heard was the groaning from the men who were thoroughly beaten.

Captain Duval stepped aside revealing the young man, and bowed to him. "Your Majesty, I do not know…" he started.

Louis held up his hand to stop him. "No explanation needed, Captain Duval," he said, baring the cheeky smile that he always had. "I saw everything." He began stepping down into the heart of the tavern looking around as though he had never been inside one of the lesser vicinities of Paris.

Jacque glanced up at her king to see Louis approaching her. He motioned her to stand up, and she did so reluctantly. "My good man…" the king started, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He gently pulled her along to join him in his stroll of the tavern. "I saw what you did, and I am thrilled to see such loyalty to my people." They stopped at the two men d'Artagnan had fought moments ago. Louis turned his nose up at them. "You and your fellow men are to report to Cardinal Mazarin about your hideous behavior," he hissed at them. The king turned his attention to Jacque again and both stepped over the tangled heap below them.

"If you do not mind me asking, Your Majesty…" Jacque began. "What are you doing outside the castle?" she had to hunch over a bit to stay level with Louis' height, and it was giving her a small backache, but she endured it.

Louis beamed. "Why, today is Tuesday, my good man! Today, I am hunting! I went to the Musketeer Academy in hopes of finding decent escorts. Naturally, I had asked for D'Artagnan…" he squealed. Jacque didn't have to look at d'Artagnan to see his ego swell.

"And I was told that he was here. From the moment that you saved that young woman, I have seen everything that has happened. Now then, I have decided that I want you, d'Artagnan, and privates Ramon and Siroc to accompany me on this beautiful day."

D'Artagnan, Ramon, and Siroc were now on their feet, looking to Captain Duval for approval. "It would honor me to have these four escort you to the hunting grounds, Your Majesty," Duval said, he straightened his posture, standing tall with pride for his musketeers.

"Then it is decided!" Louis exclaimed. He clapped his hands rapidly, and a horse was brought just outside the door to the tavern. "I already have horses ready for four escorts. We leave immediately!" he laughed heartily when he made his way outside.


	4. A Hunting Trip Gone Awry

A Hunting Trip Gone Awry

The royal carriage was pulled by two horses down the narrow dirt road that followed the river. The season had become wild, and the river overflowed with deeper depths and stronger currents. Siroc was not sure that his sub-aquatic chamber would be maneuvered as easily as the first trial run, but he did not mind a good challenge. His head began forming plans and blueprints of ways to make the chamber more adaptable to the changes of the river.

Siroc guarded Louis' carriage from the rear while Jacque rode on the left side and D'Artagnan on the right. Ramon was given the privilege of maneuvering the royal coach, and he took advantage of every second. They were grateful that Louis decided not to take Mazarin with him on the hunting trip. One could only imagine the schemes that would form inside the Cardinal's mind that were made to put the musketeers to shame.

Louis figured, what good would a political advisor do unless he himself carried a gun for the event. Besides, Mazarin hated his hounds, but Louis loved them so. They were running up ahead of them, playfully nipping at one another and letting out low growls every so often.  
Jacque really had no idea how hunting worked. As much as she had learned from her father and brother, hunting was something that only the men did in the Roget family. Her father refused to take her with him whenever they were in need of meat for the season. She felt lost and insignificant, for she was used to planting and sowing seeds, up heaving weeds, anything that had to do with tending to a farm. She had to play this by ear.

"Private Laponte?" the king requested. His hand had emerged from the carriage window, and it gestured for her to come closer to the carriage.  
Jacque pulled on the reigns gently to move closer to the window. "Yes, your majesty?"

"I was wondering if I might have a word with you," Louis pulled away the curtains that fell around frame of the window. He tucked them behind a small hinge that was built into the corner of the small confinement.

"Of course, sire," Jacque said, keeping pace with the coach.

"I could not help but notice how you uh…" Louis lowered his voice. "Well, that is, the woman in Café Nouveau, well she absolutely adored you! Tell me, how did you do it?" he asked eagerly, poking his head out. His eyes were full of curiosity, and suddenly Jacque was marked with the role of being a teacher and Louis was her student.

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds wondering where to even begin. This was not that the type of small talk one would normally have with a king. She felt like a big sister all of a sudden, giving advice to a young sibling. She had to think quickly before she rose suspicion. How would a heartbreaker reply? And she found it; all she had to was think of D'Artagnan.

"Well, your majesty, one must be charming, charismatic, daring… but at the same time humble," she said. She added the last bit out of her own nature. She had no idea how D'Artagnan managed as much arrogance as he did with women. Jacque looked across the window through its parallel partner and saw the man that filled half of her thoughts. The more she thought of him, the more she suspected that his actions were a façade. Perhaps, there was more to him than he let on. She saw parts of him that she was sure Ramon and Siroc never witnessed, but she had to blame that on the fact that he knew she was a woman.

"Charming, charismatic, daring, and humble…" Louis repeated, considering each one with deep thought. "Anything else?"

Jacque broke off her eye contact with D'Artagnan when he caught her stare and gave her a grand smile. She slapped on a serious expression once more, ignoring the heart melting expression that was thrown her way. When her eyes rested on Louis, she tried not to smile when she saw the young man holding up four fingers. One finger seemed to represent each of her suggestions to him. "Yes, your majesty," she said. "The most important thing is to just be yourself."

"Be myself," Louis said. "That doesn't seems so hard."

"Your majesty, may I have permission to speak freely?" Jacque asked. She had a small suspicion.

Louis nodded, still counting his fingers and remembering one trait for each finger. "You may."

"Is there someone that you are trying to impress?" she asked trying not to embarrass not the king, but the boy that was growing up to be a man. "Is there someone that holds your interest?"

Louis looked at Jacque feeling the blush creeping on his cheeks. "Well, there is a woman that serves me tea in the morning…"

"No worries, your majesty," Jacque said giving him a warm smile. It made her happy that she could assist Louis in more ways than just protecting him. "Just remember what I told you."  
He clapped his hands merrily. "My thanks, private Laponte," then he waved her off to return to her post. She nodded and pulled away from the carriage.

Ramon called out, "We are here your majesty," and pulled the coach to a stop. The musketeers dismounted from their horses and gathered around. Ramon jumped from his seat and set out to open Louis' door. He fell to one knee and let loose the two steps that lowered to the ground for the king's convenience.

Louis stepped out of the carriage and inhaled a deep breath. The air was warm and fresh, and a light breeze flowed through his hair. "What a wonderful day for hunting! Let us prepare!"  
While the king called for his hounds to come to him, D'Artagnan, Ramon, and Siroc were setting up for the hunt. Jacque was doing less than her share of the work because she had no idea what to do. D'Artagnan silently guided her, teaching the fundamentals of hunting. When he found her wandering around observing more than doing, he motioned for her to follow what he did.

He watched her as much as she did him, but bother were oblivious to the attention the other was getting. He saw that she was hesitant to do something much less touch anything they brought along. His hand found hers, and he handed her a rifle. She was startled at the light touch. She looked at the weapon and nodded her appreciation. Being with the musketeers taught her a few things about guns at the very least. 'He knew that,' she thought. "Now what do we do?" she asked, as she prepared Louis' rifle.

"Well, basically, we hide in the high hedges of the field, wait for those drooling masses of flesh to scare out the prey, and we watch his highness shoot them down," D'Artagnan said. "Simple."

Louis walked to his trusted guards, almost skipping to them in glee. "Now we shall begin," he said in anticipation, but his excitement died when a flock of pheasant were scared out of the field. Louis huffed then began yelling for his hounds. "Suzette! Lise…!" he shouted, but D'Artagnan stopped him.

"Your majesty, your hounds are here," he said, looking a few from where they stood.

"What?" Louis said in disbelief, but he looked next to him and it was true. His beloved canine hunters were with him. They were not the ones to scare away the game. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Your majesty, behind me, now," Jacque said quickly. She did not think of the taboos of the personal space of royalty, and she did not care. Something was wrong, and she grabbed Louis by his arm and shoved him behind her.

Siroc wasted no time in dropping everything that he had in his hands, and taking hold of his rapier. Ramon was not far behind, and he completed the four man circle that formed around Louis. "Sire, what ever should happen, stay with us," Siroc said, scanning the field.   
The king started biting his nails, looking around frantically. He jumped when his hounds barked loudly at the field. Their cries grew fiercer which each passing second. The barks weren't meant to scare prey any longer, it was to warn their master that he was in danger.

The four musketeers did not need to wait long to see several men rise from the tall blades of grass. They stood ready, prepared to protect their king from any peril. "Your majesty, please stay inside the carriage. They are more in number, and we may not be able to watch you," Jacque said. "No matter what happens, you must stay their for own safety." She thrust one her knives into his hand. "In case you need it," she said. Louis obeyed, grabbing the knife tightly in his grasp and ran into the carriage. He whistled for his hounds to follow him, and they did so.

The men were now close by, and the musketeers now saw that they were armed with blades and pistols. D'Artagnan moved close to Jacque. "Bandits. Probably from the Darkwoods Gang." He went straight for the horses that were attached to the coach. With a few slices of his rapier and a couple of strong kicks, they were set free.

"What are you doing?" Jacque asked, watching the horses run off.

"They begin firing off those pistols, and they'll scare the horses. If the horses starting running away, then so does our king, and any means of protection for him that we have. They must be furious that we locked up Snout and Fishface."

"Well, they can have a nice little reunion in a cell for all I care," Jacque said, preparing herself for battle.

Siroc stepped in between D'Artagnan and Jacque. "Gentlemen, not to ruin the moment or anything, but I believe our friends want a word."  
One of the bandits drew out his pistol, and shouted, "For Snout, you rotten musketeers!"

"Well, maybe more than a word." Siroc proceeded in pulling his three friends behind the carriage as the bullets came flying by. "I believe we just skipped over the basic rules of engagement."

"What rules?" Ramon asked, wincing as a bullet grazed the wheel next to his head.

"Well…" Siroc said, pulling out his own pistol. "First we start a vicious conversation in which we provoke the other party, second, one man makes the first move to begin the bout, then third we eventually defeat them without effort and carry on with our day." He returned fire, aiming for one of the bandit's hands. The man howled in pain when he felt his hand being pierced by metal, and he dropped the pistol to the ground.

"One down," Siroc said as he turned back around just in time as a bullet whipped past his face.

Jacque fired off her pistol, succeeding in shooting another man in the leg. They were drawing closer now. "Musketeers!" she heard them cry. They charged for the carriage, swords now drawn.

"Looks like we're going to have to ignore the third rule," D'Artagnan said. "We might actually have to _try_ and hold them off." He grabbed the hilt of rapier and rounded the carriage. The others followed, and fended off the bandits, four against four. "Your majesty, stay inside!" he yelled.

Louis yelped when he heard the bullets ricocheting off his carriage. He placed his hands over his head when he saw the wood bursting to pieces just outside the window. "D'Artagnan! Laponte!" he cried. Being inside the castle for most of his short life, he was under constant supervision and protected at all times. Now, he was in the middle of a violent fight with no idea of what to do. He prayed that his musketeers would keep him safe as they had done for his father. He clutched Jacque's dagger to his chest, his knuckles turning white.

Jacque managed to knee a man in his groin, and sweep his feet from under him. Another man came at her, swinging wildly and yelling out obscenities. The man was twice her size. Even if she could parry his attacks, his sheer strength would cause her to lose her balance. The best she could do was use his weight against him. He was big, but he was slow. If she was just given the chance then… and he ran straight for her. She dodged to the right and turned behind him pushing the man forward with her weight. He could not stop his momentum and ran straight into the carriage, head first. The large man fell on his back, completely blacked out.

Ramon gracefully dodge his attacker's strikes and punched him with the hilt of his sword. When the bandit hunched over in pain, Ramon kicked him over saying a small farewell with a kiss. He saw Siroc being crushed by a bandit that was easily bigger than Fishface. The giant had grabbed the musketeer from behind and had his massive arms wrapped around Siroc's chest trying to snap him in two. "In need of assistance, comrade Siroc?" he called.

"No…no, I can handle it," Siroc gasped. "I just need to find… the proper angle…" he began choking. With a mighty kick, his heel found the bandit's knee managing to break it. Siroc heard the man wail in pain and felt the arms around him loosen. He did not think that air would ever taste so sweet and pure. He was crouched over, taking in as much air as possible. Ramon ran over to him and patted him on the back.

"Are you all right, mi comrade?" he asked.

Siroc gestured with his hands to give him a moment and that he was fine, but his breathing came in uneven breaths. Ramon saw the giant was distracted, favoring his right knee and punched him in the jaw.

D'Artagnan fought his man with fists and feet rather than his sword. In fights like these, his rivals tended to grab him and hang onto to his body like leeches. Weapons can only do so much he figured, and when it came down to it, it was a man's fighting ability that would save his life. He kneed the man in the ribs then threw him a right hook. The man fell unconscious, his jaw broken and disfigured. "That was simple," d'Artagnan stated, shaking his hand. He managed to split open the skin by his knuckles, and it began to bleed freely. For the second time today, the musketeers were met with victory.

"Your majesty?" Jacque called.

"Is it over?" Louis peeked over the bottom ledge of the window. He surveyed the scene before him, reluctantly opening the door. "D'Artagnan?"

"I'm here, your majesty," d'Artagnan responded. He was by the river, dipping his fist into the cool water. He winced when he felt the cold liquid run over his broken skin. Louis ran to d'Artagnan in concern.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. His knees were shaking, and his nerves were almost shot. Never in his life had he experienced anything so terrifying, but at least he was not alone. His musketeers were with him. They did not abandon him when he needed them most.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Nothing to fear, your highness. It's just a light scrape. You should flush your face, your majesty. You look pale." He nodded toward the river and handed Louis a small piece of material. "It will help."

Louis let out a nervous laugh. "Yes, yes, of course," he stuttered. "Fresh water seems refreshing at the moment." He gratefully took the small towel and dipped it into the river.

D'Artagnan stood and went to see how Siroc and Ramon were doing, not to mention he needed a clean bandage for his hand. "How are you doing, Siroc?" he asked.

The color came back to the inventor's face, but ever the optimist, he flashed d'Artagnan a bright smile. "Alive and breathing."

Jacque looked around the field, feeling a low panic rising. Something was out of place. There was something missing. She stood between the coach and the young king, turning in slow circles, replaying the fight in her mind. She remembered where the bandits lay when she and Siroc fired upon them. In total, there should be six men that lay in the open, but when she counted them, there were only five. D'Artagnan, Ramon, and Siroc were regrouping, checking each other to see if they had sustained injuries. And Louis was alone by the river cleaning his face… Louis! Her mind screamed at her in fear.

She looked to her king, and started searching frantically for the sixth man. She looked to the coach, and her eyes widened. The sixth bandit was clutching onto the side of the carriage, propping himself straight to get a clear shot. He aimed right for the king of France.

"Louis!" Jacque cried and ran to her king. D'Artagnan, Ramon, and Siroc stirred out of their conversation when they heard the frantic scream.

Louis jerked up his head in alarm, but he did not see what happened. He felt an arm shove him aside roughly to the ground, and the crack of a pistol filled his ears. A splash of water covered his back, and when he turned to the river, he saw Jacque's body bobbing up and down the surface of the water. She struggled to keep her head above, but the currents pulled her down. He heard a pair of running feet coming closer to him, and then they stopped. There was a second splash.

"D'Artagnan!" Louis shrieked as he saw a legend's son dive into the water.


	5. D'Artagnan's Promise

D'Artagnan's Promise

Siroc and Ramon tried to stop him from jumping, but they were too late. Without thinking, without any consideration for the consequences of his actions, he jumped. "D'Artagnan!" Louis yelled.

Ramon ran down stream as fast as he could, but he was easily left behind. The cruel river swept their comrades away before anything could be done. Siroc had used what little strength he had to subdue the sixth bandit. When the man was restrained, Siroc looked down the river where he last saw Jacque and d'Artagnan.

Siroc, Ramon, and Louis looked on in fear when they saw Jacque submerge and d'Artagnan going under as well. Ramon made the sign of the cross, "Mother Mary…"

Siroc caught his breath. He could not believe that they were gone; it had happened so fast. They were right next to him, but everything changed in an instant . "Ramon, roundup the remaining horses that have not run far from here. We are taking, his highness back to the palace."

Ramon grabbed him roughly by his arm. "Do you mean to tell me that we are to leave our friends to their deaths?" he said in anger.

Siroc pulled out of his grasp, his anger matching Ramon's. "What would you have me do? Our duty…" he did not want to admit it, but it was true, "exceeds our relationships with our friends. His majesty has to be safe before we can search for d'Artagnan and Jacque."

Ramon shook his head, frustrated and exhausted. He knew Siroc was right. It was moments like these that would make or break their oaths as musketeers. "All right. We return the young king, but then we come straight back here. My mind will never be at ease if I left them." He did not wait for Siroc to respond and went to search for the horses that fled from the battle early on.

Siroc looked downstream, worry covering his face. 'God, if you really are there, they could use your help,' he thought.

Jacque struggled to keep her head above water, but whenever she moved her left arm, a searing pain shot up her side. She felt the strength drain from her body as the crushing tides beat against her brutally. In the far off distance, she heard several cries, "Jacque! Jacque! Laponte!" but then she was pulled under once again. For the brief seconds that her head broke the surface, she could no longer see her fellow musketeers. They were far from her reach, and they were unable to help her. She was going to die. Her chest burned, screaming for air, and her vision blurred. The seconds went by, but they seemed to be hours. She could not longer fight it; she was losing a battle she could never win. 'Maybe it won't be so bad,' she thought, feeling her mind slip away. 'Ill see father in heaven…'

Suddenly, she was lifted, and her head broke the thin shield that separated water from air. She could barely open her mouth to take in the nectar of life, but she realized she could no longer control her body. Her mind registered that she was still floating downstream, but something was pulling her to shore. Powerful arms wrapped around her waist and kept her above water.

"Jacqueline!" d'Artagnan whispered in her ear. "Jacqueline, stay with me!" Her mind went blank, and her eyes stayed closed.

D'Artagnan managed to pull her to the edge of the bank. It was some time before the water eased and he was able to swim to shore. When his feet found solid ground, he carried her out of the water and lay her on the grassy mound. His heart stopped when he saw that her lips were blue and her chest did not move at all. "Oh god," he said. He plugged her nose and placed his mouth on hers breathing for her. Then he began pushing against her chest in even strokes. "Jacqueline, please…" He breathed into her mouth once more. For the first time since he first held a rapier, he felt himself panic. His nerves were in a frenzy as he looked from her chest to her mouth. Nothing.

No, he would not give up on her. He repeated the routine again and again, willing her to cough up the water that filled her lungs. 'She cannot die!' his mind screamed at him. 'Who would he spend his mornings with bickering over meals and bets? Who would rise to the challenge if he was out of line and put him in his place? Who would be there to worry for him if an assignment went out of control, but would still wait for him to come back to the musketeer garrison? Who would be there to cover for him if he made a mistake? If Jacqueline died…'

Then she spit water in his face. Jacqueline rolled over on her right side coughing up all that water that inhabited her lungs. D'Artagnan could not believe his eyes. "You're alive," he said, feeling flood of joy fill him. Her left was exposed to him, and he felt a new fear. She had been shot. Blood flowed from her left side, staining the musketeer uniform. She had been bleeding freely since the moment she saved Louis' life. From what he could tell, the bullet went completely through her flesh. He pulled off his musketeer overcoat as well as his undershirt.

"Jacqueline, you're bleeding pretty badly. Keep this wrapped around you for now," he said, stretching the sleeves around the wound and applying pressure.

"D'Artagnan?" she called out. She saw him clearly for the first time, and she could not help but feel the rush of relief that flowed throughout her body. "You saved me?" He nodded, his attention strictly on her wound. 'He came for me,' she thought.

"Keep the shirt here," he said. He didn't know what he had done till he jumped into the water. When he saw her fall into the river, his body reacted. Her hand was placed beside his, and she grimaced when the pain shot up through her side again.

D'Artagnan placed one arm under her legs and the other was behind her back. "I'm going to try and be as gentle as possible, but we have to leave here. Someone may spot you and recognize you from the wanted posters." He lifted her in his arms, and it hurt him to see her face contort in pain, but she did not cry out.

"D'Artagnan," she said, leaning against his chest, conserving as much energy as possible. "I recognize this place." Her eyes surveyed the woods that they faced. "Remember, I told you before that I used to swim in a river during the summer? My family farm is just a few minutes from here, that way," she said. She pointed west, straight into the heart of the forest.

"I hope you have some supplies left there. Just hang on a little more," he said and began walking. He was pressed for time. Though he was conscious the whole time, even he did not know how much time had passed since they were pulled down the river.

He found a small path that weaved throughout the natural maze. Common sense told him that paths such as these were to lead either to an open glen, to the city, or to a residence. He followed the path for several minutes, and it did not take him long to see the small farm. There was a house next to the stables, and a small garden that branched out from the side of the house. In plain view, lay two headstones. 'Jacqueline's father and mother,' d'Artagnan thought in empathy. 'She's all alone.' Her parents were dead, and her brother had no choice but to flee to the Americas. She had no one to turn to, yet she was as brave and courageous as any man he knew. He admired that about her.

When he was a boy, d'Artagnan was used to grand mansions filled with vast furnishing and luxuries. The fact that his father helped saved the life of France's previous king gave the family certain credit and recognition. However, he never found it pleasing to him. The fame he received since he was a child and the respect he gained only because he was someone's son never pleased him. He wondered in the back of his mind what it would be like to live in a small farm with a wife and children. First things first though. Jacqueline needed him.

He approached the wooden door to the house and kicked it open. He was not going to waste costly time. Jacqueline was bleeding severely, and she needed aid. It did not take long to locate a decent bed to lay her on. "Jacqueline, I need bandages and rum, anything to that effect," he said looking around the room.

She groaned when the flat surface pressed against her body. "Across the house… cupboards, father's room…" she whimpered. She did not have to see the d'Artagnan's shirt to know that it was soaked in her blood. She could feel it with the tips of her fingers, certain it was not water that damped it.

D'Artagnan went straight away to the other rooms. If someone were to walk in on the Roget residence, they would have thought that the family was being robbed. D'Artagnan went through all cupboards and drawers like a madman, searching for anything that could help. He grabbed a handful of thin blankets when he could not find bandages, and he also found a bottle of whiskey on a small dining table. During his hunt, he passed by a fireplace. He stared at it for a second then thought back to the wound that Jacqueline suffered. He knew that it would never heal on its own. It was too deep and critical. D'Artagnan found pieces of flint next to the fireplace and started striking them against each other.. He could already hear her screams in his ears, but the injury needed to be closed. When the fire began anew, he returned to her side.

He knelt beside her bed and drew out his dagger that he hid in his boot. Spreading out the blankets, he began to shred them in long even strips. Once he was done, he held the bottle of whiskey in one hand and removed his bloodied shirt from Jacqueline's grasp. "I have to clean it," he said, knowing full well this was only the beginning of the pain she would feel. She nodded, understanding and accepting what needed to be done. She began to lift her shirt exposing her stomach and the bullet wound.

"How bad is it?" she asked, unable to lift her head to see the damage. Every breath she took brought her pain, but she did not feel embarrassed being in front of d'Artagnan. He actually made her feel calm and relaxed.

"Well, it's not as bad as your horrid bellybutton," he said, trying to lighten the mood. He was relieved to hear her laugh weakly. "It seems that the bullet went straight through your side, so I'm going to have to clean both your front and back. You were lucky not to get shot somewhere vital, but still, this is a pretty nasty wound."

Jacqueline rolled to her right side with his help. With every movement, she had to bite her lip and blink away the tears. The unbearable ache wracked her body, and she shuddered involuntarily. When d'Artagnan applied the whiskey, she grabbed his free arm asking silently for support. He let her hold onto him; it was the only comfort he could give her in such a time. She held the cry in, and her body shook violently. When he was done, he gave her a few moments before breaking the silence. "Jacqueline…" he did not know how he would tell her that there was more to come.

"I need to bite onto something…" Jacqueline said. She knew. "Anything will do."  
When d'Artagnan was done, he gave her a piece from the tattered blanket. "Bite into this, I'll be right back," he said, dreading what he was about to do. With knife in hand, he returned to the fireplace. He waited for the blade to turn bright red before he withdrew it from the fire. Quickly, he went back to Jacqueline. She already bit into the ball of fabric and waited for him.  
He placed one knee over her legs and held her upper body down with his free arm. "I'm sorry," he said, and placed the blazing knife on her open wound. As he suspected, her body flinched violently, and he pressed down against her with all his weight to keep her from moving. She bit down harder into the fabric, but her cries were hardly blocked by it. Her body twisted and turned, but he held her as he applied the knife to the rear wound. Again, she flailed, trying to tear herself away from the scorching metal that burned her skin shut. Tears were streaming down her face, mixing with sweat.

D'Artagnan wanted to choke when he heard the sizzling of her skin and the knife. 'Just a bit longer,' he thought. Jacqueline was much stronger than he thought. It took all of weight and strength to hold her and tend to her injuries. When he saw the skin close, he immediately dropped the knife and held her in his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over again.

Desperate, she held onto him and cried into his shoulder. All of the stress she had felt, hiding inside of Jacque, watching her back constantly in case someone might have seen her drained her mentally and physically. She bottled her feelings inside of her these past few months when she had become a musketeer. Now, she felt the guard that she kept around her collapse. D'Artagnan held her, pulling her matted hair out of her face, telling her that he was here for her. All of the frustration she had kept inside since her father was murdered, flowed out of her. Her sobs were muffled by his shoulder, and her tears covered his bare shoulder.

He stroked her hair as they sat together, waiting for her to calm. Slowly, her sobs died down and her body relaxed. He looked down at Jacqueline; she had fallen asleep. He moved from underneath her, again laying her down in the bed as gently as he could. He found more blankets and pulled them over her, being careful not to brush the cauterized wound. In her father's room, he had found an unused shirt. 'I don't suppose he would mind me using it,' he thought.

Jacqueline was in a dreamless sleep. D'Artagnan checked in on her every so often to make sure that she was comfortable. Night soon fell upon them, but he dare not leave her side. He decided that he was going to sleep on the floor next to her. Only moonlight filled the room, and a smaller portion of light came from the other room that contained the fireplace. He leaned against the bed, tucking strands of hair behind her ear, feeling her smooth skin beneath his fingers. "Jacqueline, it's my fault," he admitted to her, but she could not hear him. "This should have never happened to you, and I promise, it will not happen again. I swear it." He looked at her flawless face, admiring every curve. She was a beautiful woman, with a strong heart and a stronger will. He wanted to protect her at all costs from any harm that might befall her. He placed his lips over hers gently, sealing the promise he made to himself and to her.


	6. Reunion

Reunion

The morning rays touched her eyes, slowly pulling her away from the dream world. She opened her eyes, feeling a sense of comfort surround her. 'Where am I?' she thought. Then the memories came to her. Everything that had happened last night filled her mind. She managed to prop herself onto her elbows and push herself up. She could feel her side burning, so she only moved as much as her body would let her. Her eyes fell upon the man that saved her life.

He was on the floor, rolled up in a heap of blankets. His hair had come undone, and the rebellious strands plastered themselves all over his face. Throughout the entire night, he had not left her. She smiled, knowing that there could only be a handful of people he would do that for. "D'Artagnan?" she called in a soft voice. Her back was now pressed against the wall that her bed connected to. She pulled the covers up with her, so that she could keep the warmth from escaping under the blanket.

He stirred in his sleep when he heard his name called. "Captain… it's too early still… practice…later…," he muttered. He rolled over, bringing the blankets with him attempting to cover his ears with them.

"D'Artagnan?" she said again. He was like a child when he slept. Somehow, the arrogance was entirely gone, and the coy attitude melted away. She saw a side of him last night that was completely uncharacteristic of him. Or maybe, that was his real self that he buried underneath all the qualities that annoyed her early in their relationship. The caring gentle man she saw was beneath that cocky, arrogant womanizer. He risked his own life to save hers, and he tended to her every need. This was the real d'Artagnan, she mused. She wondered how she never saw it before.

He said something again, but it was muffled by his covers. 'Unbelievable,' she thought. 'No wonder why Captain Duval is tearing out his hair every morning.' She leaned over the bed and grabbed one of d'Artagnan's boots. With a flick of her wrist, she "kicked" him in the back. He jolted awake, rolling out of the blankets and maneuvered into a crouching position. It took him a while before he recognized the woman before him.

"Morning," she said with a small smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling a little flustered when his eyes stayed on her. "Did you get enough beauty sleep?"  
He pulled his hair out of his face, his expression full of concern. "How is it?" he asked, standing and walking to the bed. "Are you in pain?"

She dropped the boot and leaned back against the cool wall. "I'm alive… thank you, d'Artagnan." She looked into his eyes, wanting him to see that she meant it.  
He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hands on his knees. "You would have done the same for me. Well, you might have beat me for doing something that crazy, but then you would have helped me," he said in a light joke, but somehow he could imagine her slapping him then tending to his injuries. "You should be proud. France's king is still alive because of you."

"And I am alive because of you," she said, placing her hand on his. His eyes fell upon their hands where they touched. He wished he could tell her right then and there that he cared for her more than she could imagine. It took a lot for him to realize it, but he came to terms with his emotions. However, now was not the time. Jacqueline was still wanted for murder, and the others still did not know who she was. She would still have to continue her masquerade act as Jacque Laponte.

She pulled her hand back, thinking the same. She figured though, that he would never choose her. Jacqueline Roget was a fugitive, not a fair maiden that had the pleasure of freely walking the streets of Paris. Maybe one day, things will change. "We have to leave here. Knowing Ramon and Siroc, they must be going insane, and they're probably searching for us."

D'Artagnan shook himself out of his thoughts. "Er… you're right. He stood, trying to dust the dirt from his pants and shirt. "First, you may want to wash up a bit. When you are ready to go, I suggest we start by the river. They are likely searching downstream from where we disappeared."

Jacqueline nodded and made to move her legs off the bed. D'Artagnan helped her till her feet touched the floor. "Wait just a moment," he said and left the room. While he was gone, Jacqueline tested the extent of her physical mobility. She could only raise her left arm a bit past her hip, but beyond that, her nerves refused to listen to her mind. Thank God it wasn't her right arm that she could not use. She hardly used her left hand for swordplay, but she would still be inconvenienced till it healed.

D'Artagnan returned, but now he was carrying a large bucket of water with him. He set it next to Jacqueline, and he handed her a towel. "You can use this to clean up," he said. He wished he could beat his head against a wall to get an image of a barely clad Jacqueline out of his mind. "Call me if you need anything." And with that he left her in a hurry.

She looked at the closed door and the bucket of water that lay at her feet. She smelled of blood and whiskey, and she could not wait till she was somewhat clean. Dipping the towel into the water, she began undressing herself.

D'Artagnan tied his hair back into a light ponytail while pacing around the front of the house. Before he knew where his feet were carrying him, he found himself standing in front of the graves that held Jacqueline's parents. Time and time again, Jacqueline had lashed out at him, telling him that the death of the cardinal's captain was not murder. It was an act of justice. He knew it wasn't murder. In fact, he would have killed the man even faster than she did if it were his own father. "You have quite a daughter," he said to the headstone marked "Claude Roget."  
D'Artagnan wondered what kind of man he must have been to have produced a woman like Jacqueline. She was not brought up with riches and fancy dresses like the other women that filled Paris. She was a farmer's daughter, a woman who tended to dirt, soil, and livestock, but he did not care. She had courage, wit, skill with a sword, and she loves her king with all her heart. She gave up another's proposal to stay here and fight the Cardinal, to fight for the king's sake. "Just so that you don't come into my dreams and haunt me," d'Artagnan started, "I would like to take full responsibility for your daughter. This would be a lot easier if you were alive…" What idiot would talk to a man in his grave for permission to care for his daughter, but he respected the man and he would ask.

"It would honor me, mousier Roget, if you would allow me to watch over your daughter in your place," he said. "My intentions are honorable, and I have no means of taking advantage of her," he added quickly. He waited for something to happen… anything to happen. He looked and listened for a sign, but nothing happened. Only silence greeted him as a response. "Well, I suppose that if I haven't been struck by lightening or attacked by some wild beast, then your answer is yes?" Claude Roget's name seemed to stare him down giving him a warning in case d'Artagnan's request proved ill. "I swear it, mousier Roget, like my father, our honor is what make us the men we are." He gave a bow to the headstone that was worthy of his king. He did the same to the grave next to Claude Roget. "Madame Roget," he said, then he turned to walk back to the house.

He knocked on Jacqueline's door calling out her name, "Jacqueline?"

"You can come in," came the voice from behind the door.

He open the door slowly, and saw that it was not Jacqueline Roget that met his eyes, but Jacque Laponte. She dressed herself in her brother's clothing and tied her hair back. She just now finished pulling on her boots and gloves. "We should leave," she said, strapping her rapier to her side. "The Cardinal desecrated my house once already. If they find me here, there will be no mistaking that I'm Jacqueline Roget." Her voice was no longer weak and shaky. She now spoke with aggression and a sturdy tone.

'She's probably preparing herself for when we find Ramon and Siroc,' d'Artagnan thought. He understood and went to her side. "Can you walk on your own?" he asked.

She did not answer right away, but she busied herself in tidying her clothes. She used the remaining strips and wrapped them around her chest, hiding the fact that she was a woman. Her brother's shirt was light and one size too large for her. She had to make sure and conceal her identity from any onlookers.

"Can you walk on your own?" d'Artagnan asked again. He knew that her pride would keep her from telling him the truth. He saved her life, yes, but he would gladly do it again and more. Maybe she felt that she asked too much of him, and she did not want to disturb him further. "Jacqueline?"

He said it again. He said her name again. She hated it every time her name came from his lips. She was accustomed to hearing him say Jacque, not her rightful name. Over the months that she was in the musketeer garrison, she felt as though Jacqueline was a memory, an imaginary woman who faded away. When she heard him calling her in the river, she felt Jacqueline come back. Not even Charles II was able to ignite that spark in her; it had been d'Artagnan. He made her vulnerable, and at times she found it difficult to separate Jacqueline from Jacque. "No," she said at last. "No, I can't."

With that, he grabbed her right arm and placed it over his shoulders. She looked at him, puzzled and confused. "What?" he said innocently. "I am a musketeer helping an injured comrade. It won't look awkward to anyone. Now, shall we?"

She nodded her and shifted her weight to lean against d'Artagnan. Together, they left the Roget farmhouse and set out for the road near the river.

"D'Artagnan! Jacque!" yelled Ramon. The sounds of the river were his only answer. The rushing water filled the silence that he and Siroc have heard for hours. They were tired and sore. When they had returned to the palace with Louis, the sun had set, but they set out to see Captain Duval regardless. He sat there in his office, unable to believe what Siroc and Ramon were telling him. Ramon had wanted to leave the moment Louis was back inside the safety of the palace walls, but Siroc told him it would be better to report to Duval. 'It would be a far worse situation if Duval worried about the whereabouts of four of his musketeers rather than two of them,' he argued. Duval, however, ordered them to stay in the garrison till the next morning. When Ramon protested, Duval said to him, 'The light of day is gone, and it will take hours to search for them. Have faith in them, Ramon.'

Both Siroc and Ramon were unable to sleep that night. When the sun was seen creaking through their windows, they set out immediately intent on finding their friends. They rode on horseback for nearly three hours, traveling upstream having already passed the hunting field.

"They must be here," Siroc said refusing to give up hope. "Ramon, we should let the horses have a drink. They haven't had a rest since we left the city."

"You are right," Ramon sighed. They led their horses to a bank and let them have their fill of water. "Hours we have been searching and nothing," Ramon said. He threw a stone into the flowing stream, his eyes scanning the other side of the river. Unless he saw their bodies with his own eyes, Ramon did not believe that his friends were dead. They couldn't be.

Siroc ran a hand through his hair, feeling lost and uncertain. He sat on the grassy bank thinking of every possible way that d'Artagnan and Jacque could have survived to keep his faith alive. No invention of his could rival the stress and worry he felt over the loss of his friends.

"Jacque was the only one injured," he said thinking out loud. "D'Artagnan was strong and healthy, despite what had happened earlier. He should have been able to reach Jacque. Now, if Jacque was able to endure, there is no way of knowing, but d'Artagnan should still be alive. Agree?" he asked.

"Agree," Ramon said, throwing in another stone. "Now then, the more demanding question is, where are they?" Rather than feeling angry, he was feeling more annoyed. It was though d'Artagnan and Jacque were playing a sick hide and seek game.

"I have no way of knowing," Siroc looked up, then his eyes narrowed. He saw something move further upriver. It was no animal, he decided. He held his hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun. It can't be.

Ramon stopped mid-throw and looked in the direction that Siroc was staring in. He too saw something in the distance, also doubting the images that he saw. "Siroc…"

"Horses!" Siroc said in a hurry. "Get on the horses!" They mounted once more and rode upstream toward them. As they closed the distance, Siroc let out a shout of joy.

It was them. Not just d'Artagnan or just Jacque, but both of them together. "D'Artagnan!" he yelled, feeling a wave of relief.

"Jacque!" Ramon yelled out, a wide smile spread across his face. "Compadres!"  
D'Artagnan looked out into the distance when he heard his name being called. "What a sight for sore eyes," he said and waved. "Siroc! Ramon!"

"Thank God," Jacque said. She lost track of the time that passed by when they left her family property. She maintained her strength by keeping silent and focusing all of her energy on her legs and her injury. Even with d'Artagnan's help, they covered a small amount of distance in a long period of time. To her surprise, d'Artagnan did not complain once. He held her and supported her the entire time, cracking jokes every now and then to break the silence. When she first met him, she never thought in her life that she would be grateful to him.

Siroc and Ramon rode up beside them jumping off the horses in an unorthodox fashion. D'Artagnan and Jacque separated accepting the embraces that Siroc provided. He laughed heartily when he hugged both of them, feeling the anxiety release from his nerves.

Ramon, however, punched d'Artagnan right in the jaw and knocked him on the ground. "You crazy Frenchman!" he scorned. "Don't ever do something that irresponsible again!" He let out a relieved laugh and helped d'Artagnan to his feet then proceeded in kissing his cheeks in a friendly manner. He did the same to Jacque. "I am sorry," Ramon said, when he saw her shocked expression. "It a custom that we have."

"It is fine, Ramon," she said. "I am relieved to see you as well."

D'Artagnan rubbed his jaw, still not fully realizing what hit him. "Remind me never to do whatever I did to deserve that," he said to Jacque.

Siroc noticed that Jacque was leaning on her right; her right hand was placed over her the left side of her hip. "My god, you were shot, weren't you?" he asked, checking her side.

She stopped him by holding out her hand, indicating that she was fine. "I am all right, Siroc," she said. "But all of this walking may have opened it back up slightly."

"Is it wrapped? Did you cauterize it?" Siroc asked.

"Yes," Jacque answered.

"With what?" Ramon asked. The three of them looked at him puzzled. "Well, in order to close a wound like that, you would need a fire. You both came from a river."

D'Artagnan stepped in and helped Jacque onto one of the horses. "Well, a kind civilian took us in last night and offered her home to us. Had to use my natural charm of course." Once Jacque was secure on the horse, he hopped on right behind her. "Don't fall off," he told her. "Last thing I need is to save you from a concussion, and you're not exactly that light." And the arrogance was back, she mused.

Ramon and Siroc jumped onto the second horse glad to have their friends back with them. "His majesty would like to see you two when we get back. I think he sprouted gray hair over the night," Siroc said. "Glad to have you back."

"Si, I must agree. Calling ourselves the musketeer duo would be dull and boring," Ramon added. "To the four musketeers! May they last forever in name and in time!"

"To the four musketeers!" they said in unison.

"It's better than saying all for one and one for all," d'Artagnan said, and they rode toward the city of Paris.


	7. When the Day Comes

When the Day Comes

Louis paced back and forth in the dining room, possibly burning a path into his stone floor. He was driving his grandmama crazy, so she left him to his insanity. Louis even sent Cardinal Mazarin from his presence, wanting peace and solitude. He did not want to hear advice or half hearted compliments from the Cardinal right now. He could not help himself, for he was worried about his musketeers. It was already late afternoon, and still he had not heard from them. He heard boots clacking against the hard floor and turned to see Captain Duval standing in the doorway.

"Anything?" Louis asked desperately.

Captain Duval shook his head. "No, your majesty. Private Siroc and private Ramon have not return yet. I have no reports on the whereabouts of d'Artagnan or Laponte."

Louis scoffed in disbelief and continued his pacing. He stuck a finger in the air, pointing in no particular direction. "Private Laponte saved my life. If his body is not found, then I shall hold a most noble burial for him in his name." Louis stopped his pacing and pulled out the dagger that Jacque had given him when they were ambushed. He was alive and breathing, unharmed and safe because of Jacque Laponte. He didn't need an advisor to tell him that. "That man… cared for me," the young king said, eyeing the dagger.

Captain Duval cleared his throat, unaccustomed to being in such a position with his king. "All of the musketeers care for your well being, your highness."

Louis shook his head, the blond curls hitting the side of his face. "Yes, captain, they are required to protect me, but Laponte cared for me. I could tell."

"How were you able to tell, your majesty?" Captain Duval decided to play along with the fifteen year old. Louis was known for acting childish, pure hearted as he was. Sometimes, him knowing that he ruled France went to his head, but something told Duval that this was different.

Louis held the dagger to his heart, looking as though he would cherish it forever. "When he saved my life, he did not address me as 'Sire' or 'your majesty.' He called me Louis. I'm old enough to know that it was not a king that he saw in danger, but a boy. For a moment, I felt that I was more treasured than anything…"

A pair of running feet were heard in the hallway. They echoed loudly throughout the dining room as a young man burst through the door, short of breath. "Your highness…!" he gasped.  
Louis looked at him with an astonished face. He became rather impatient when the man could not speak his words. "Well, what is it?" he asked.

"The musketeers, d'Artagnan and Jacque Laponte are here!" he managed to spit out.

Louis blinked. Did his ears deceive him? Then, four bodies rounded the doorway, and there stood d'Artagnan and Laponte followed closely by Siroc and Ramon. "D'Artagnan! Laponte!" Louis cried happily. He ran to them and did something that embarrassed Jacque beyond anything she knew. Before she could bow and show him the required respect, the king of France, her liege, the man she swore to protect with her life, hugged her with all his might. He placed his hands on either side of her face and stared into her eyes. "I thought you were dead!" He jumped excitedly when it finally set in his mind that he was not talking to a ghost or a figment of his imagination.

Jacque did not know what to do. He was not just any fifteen year old, he was a king. Should she hug him back? Or should she wait till someone or something pried him off of her. His senses came back and stepped away from Jacque. She could see the faintest hint of a tear in the corner of his eye. "Dying is not part of the oath I took, your majesty," Jacque said.

Captain Duval stepped forward and clamped his hand on Jacque's back. "God be praised, son, you gave us quite a scare. I'm not the only one that was worried as you can tell. Siroc and Ramon also were quite anxious to set out and search for you two."

D'Artagnan touched the corner of mouth. "I am well aware about how they felt, Captain," he said eyeing Ramon.

Louis looked at the d'Artagnan as would a boy behold his childhood hero. "Splendid display of courage, d'Artagnan. Absolutely wonderful. Without any regard for your own life, you would risk it for your comrade. And privates Siroc and Ramon?"

"Yes, your majesty," the inventor and Spaniard said together.

"I understand how hard it must have been to leave your comrades behind for my sake," Louis explained. "But you did not break your oaths, and for that you should be commended as well."

"Thank you, your majesty," Siroc said, bowing.

"Gracias, your majesty," said Ramon.

Louis paced around again, this time however, it was not in worry. He clapped his hands together, coming up with a brilliant idea. "I have it! I shall hold a feast here for you musketeers. It shall be in your names, entirely. You have gone through much peril on my account, and besides it has been a while since this place was lively and full of high spirits. Cardinal Mazarin is always so dull and serious all the time."

The musketeers, including Captain Duval, looked to one another in amazement. The king would hold a feast in their honor? This would give the musketeers great credibility, and it would make Mazarin furious. The fact that the Cardinal would be enraged because of something they had done inspired five large smiles.

"Thank you, your majesty. We are honored," Captain Duval said.  
Louis shooed them out of the dining room. "Off you go! Later tonight, there will be a dazzling feast in this room. Go wash up and head straight back here once you are done!"

The musketeers filed out and began walking down the long hallway. "Oh and private, Ramon?" Louis called.

"Yes, your highness?"

"Do not forget to bring a fresh supply of Val de Bleu!"

Jacque was relieved to finally have a decent wash. It was not as grand as the hot springs, but it will suffice for now. She smiled to herself when she pictured Louis in her mind. He was a king, true, but he was also a growing young man. Being close to death must have shocked the poor boy. If he was older and had years of experience under him, he would not have treated her in such an intimate way. She supposed that with time, he will grow into a regal man that will rule France for years to come.

Jacque pulled the musketeer uniform over her shoulders and buttoned the front, careful not to disturb her wound. She had been feeling better as of late, but she still could not use her left arm entirely. The rapier was strapped from her shoulder, leaning against her hip. The wound will scar her forever, and it will remind her of the day that d'Artagnan saved her life, but the fact did not haunt her. She knew that he would never ask for payment for his actions. Something inside of her told her that he was genuine and sincere. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said in a low voice.

D'Artagnan came into her room and closed the door behind him. "How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Better," she said and faced him. "I don't know how to thank…" but he stopped her.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm glad that you are alive, Jacqueline."  
Her brows creased and she looked at the door in concern. "D'Artagnan," she hushed her voice, the feminine tones apparent now. "In the musketeer headquarters, actually, from this moment on, I'm Jacque."

"No, you're not," d'Artagnan said, closing the distance between them. "You are Jacqueline Roget." He looked into her eyes, seeing the fiery young woman behind them. "I don't know how, but one day, we'll prove that you are no murderer. Then you won't have to run around in this… façade."

"D'Artagnan, that day will never come," Jacqueline said, feeling her heart sadden at the realization. Her eyes were now downcast, her hopes of ever becoming the woman she once was died long ago. "Unless Mazarin's hold on Louis is lifted, that day will never come for me." She felt a finger under her chin, lifting her face to meet his.

"Last night, I made a promise to you. I promised that nothing like this will ever harm you again. This very morning, I promised your father that I would care for you in his place, and now I make a promise to myself."

"And what would that be?" she asked, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. They had not been this close since last night when he held her. D'Artagnan usually fooled around and was hardly ever serious about anything. Tonight, like last night, his guard melted away.

"I promise to myself, that before I die, I will liberate Louis from Cardinal Mazarin, so that you may become Jacqueline Roget once again," he said.

The tears came back. They fell from her eyes in crystal streams, rolling down her cheeks and chin. He wiped them away for the second time, mesmerized by the woman in front of him. He realized that she was everything he ever wanted in a woman. She was not one to fall prey to his charm, when in fact she rejected him every time he attempted to flatter her. She did not send fits of giggles his way when he flashed a dazzling smile. She was a perfect match to him.

"Promises are easily broken," she said in a quiet sob. She maintained to control her emotions for fear of one their friends walking through her door. "The king of England made that evident."  
"I keep my promises," d'Artagnan assured her, holding her face in his hands. "By sealing them."

"With what?" she asked, skeptical and unconvinced.

He brought his lips to hers in a light kiss. It was not made to express his full sentiment for her, but it was made to do exactly what he meant. He made three promises to her. "With that, I promise you everything that I had said."

She felt his lips leave hers as quickly as they had been touched together. Her eyes met his, and for the first time, she understood him. A smile played across her lips. The feeling of loneliness was somehow lifted from her heart, and in place of it came a rush of comfort and reassurance. If she had to share her burden of becoming Jacque Laponte, she could not have chosen a better person. Suddenly, her life seemed more bearable.

Another knock was heard at the door, and the two separated quickly. Ramon's head poked into Jacque's room. "Excuse me, you two, but we are needed in the king's palace," he said.

"Are you able to attend, Jacque?"

Jacque pretended to be highly concerned with her left side, testing her flexibility and such. "I think I can manage… what's that smell?" she began sniffing the air.

"Oh! My apologies," Ramon said. Then they realized that his arms were full of boxes of Val de Bleu.

"Ramon," d'Artagnan groaned.

"Sorry, sorry," the Spanish musketeer said and walked on.

"Shall we?" d'Artagnan asked.

Jacque nodded and both exited her room. D'Artagnan trailed one step behind Jacque. She had become a man again, putting up the act to fool their friends and all of France. He was certain that she felt the same way towards him, but she could not admit it. The issue was not fully out in the open, but it was there. D'Artagnan would rather die than let his emotions be the death of her. One little slip up could send her to the gallows. They would have to be patient, but one day he vowed that will all change. When that day comes, he could openly hold her in his arms and shower her with kisses. When that day comes, he decided that would he tell her that he loved her with every bit of his soul, and he knew that she would tell him the same.

All right you guys, that's it for the first fanfic! Thanks so much for reading. I hope I do the series justice. See you again!

Kriss


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